


The Devils of Truth

by Casey679



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Dean Winchester, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Bondage, M/M, Mpreg, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Omega Sam Winchester, Protective Dean Winchester, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sensory Deprivation, Top Dean Winchester/Bottom Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:35:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27835390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Casey679/pseuds/Casey679
Summary: "Don't open your eyes you won't like what you seeThe devils of truth steal the souls of the freeDon't open your eyes take it from meI have found / You can find / Happiness in slavery"– Nine Inch Nails
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 28
Kudos: 129
Collections: 2020 Supernatural Reversebang Challenge





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Pinch-hit for the 2020 SPN Reversebang, featuring the awesome art of [Darklittleheart!](https://darklittleheart96.tumblr.com/post/636280960262062080/the-devils-of-truth-by-casey679)

Naomi looks at the angel sitting across from her and bites back her scowl. What bothers her isn't the angel, a stranger wearing an all-too-familiar face, or the (admittedly surprising) news he bears that her father has sired countless other realities, and this world is not his beloved, unique creation so much as one among an infinite multitude. No, it is the realization that if only she had known about this years ago, Michael's glorious war would have gone so very, very differently. Heaven would not now be so empty.

Alas, what's done is done, and the wings that have burned black cannot be restored from the Empty.

But they _can_ be replaced.

What, her visitor asks, if their numbers _could_ be replenished? Amplified, for the cost of a few hundred human souls?

Of course she says yes. There's no other answer she could possibly give, and they both know it. He's offering two full regiments of angels, willing to transfer Heavens to act at Naomi's command to enforce their father's plan. Enough to refill the ranks decimated by a failed apocalypse and a cosmic civil war. Enough to ensure that Heaven will continue to operate, to begin to undo the damage that has been done.

And in exchange? A pittance of humans – specific lineages, suitable breeding ages, who would end up in Heaven sooner or later. Does it really matter on with Earth that happens?

This angel's Heavenly Host have chosen to interpret their father's command to shepherd humanity in rather a quite different way than Naomi's own, one that circumvented the apocalypse entirely to create a paradise on earth. Under their oversight and order, humanity has thrived. But certain bloodlines have dried up, vessel bloodlines that are available here in greater numbers than other worlds where the apocalypse occurred as scheduled. If the angel asked Naomi for her opinion, she'd be happy to opine on the ultimate futility of breeding humans. After all, look how their own carefully cultivated projects have turned on them, repeatedly and with little gratitude. But who is she to destroy her brethren's hopes, especially given what is at stake?

Looking at the list, Naomi thinks that most of the humans will be easy to arrange. A few have already died, but resurrections are not particularly difficult, and it's not like they will be in this reality long enough to cause any ripples. The last two, however… of _course_ the last two would be there. She should have known the minute that her guest showed his face.

She taps the bottom of the page, and her guest leans forward, following her nails to read where she is pointing. "We can deliver all of these except for two. The last breeding pair in those bloodlines died under unfortunate circumstances that left their souls… _misplaced_. Were our father here, he could find them, I'm sure, but–"

He cocks his head. "What about a non-breeding pair?"

She pauses, considers. "Not separate. There are two living members that represent the union of those bloodline – fertile, but male. You could breed them with another line, perhaps, if you do not need genetic purity. Their DNA is very resilient."

The angel across from Naomi smiles and crosses his hand. The action makes their beige coat ride up, revealing the white cuffs underneath. "Oh, that won't be a problem. We've encountered that situation before. We can…" they pause, smirking mysteriously, "- _compensate_ for that."

Naomi purses her lips and thinks. "I can't lend them to you permanently. They're too important to our father's plan. But I would be willing to lend them to you long enough for, say, four children? With the possibility of extending that time depending on our needs?"

The angel cocks his head. "That would be satisfactory. How long will it take you to complete the list? Shall we say three days?"

Naomi thinks about it. Really, the last two will be the only difficult ones. Then again…

"I can have all but two in three days. These last two, I will need your help in acquiring."

The angel's smirk cracks into a broad grin, his blue eyes twinkling as he extends a hand. "That sounds perfect," he beams. "I have to say, Naomi, it's a pleasure to know you are as effective and efficient in this Heaven as in my own."

She takes his hand and shakes it. "The pleasure has truly been mine."

Just as he is about to leave, Castiel – not _her_ Castiel, but one far closer to the brother she'd fought alongside than her world's fallen, demon-consorting traitor – turns back to face her.

"Perhaps," Castiel says, and pauses. "If everything goes well… perhaps one day we can help you restore order to this world as well."

Naomi thinks of a world where all humans obey the dictates of Heaven and smiles, truly smiles, for the first time that day. "Perhaps," she agrees. "We'll see."

After he leaves, Naomi sits back down, fingering the list and pondering where to begin. It will be strange, knowing that the True Vessels are not in her universe.

It will be… restful.

She finds that she is looking forward to it.

In the end, it's a lot easier than she expects it to be.

Her Castiel may not be _entirely_ reset to his original factory settings, but he _is_ obedient. When the three days are up, she summons her Castiel to Heaven and orders him to allow this Castiel-2 to possess him. The entire process takes less than 15 minutes to complete, and leaves the new, _unified_ Castiel with a full knowledge of how to find the last two humans.

When he leaves to collect his… charges… she glances over at her newest compatriot, Uriel, with a smile. He does not have quite as brilliant a mind as her Uriel, but he has a calmness and confidence that his predecessor lacked.

She has missed him so.

"Castiel was telling me such fascinating stories about how you have brought order to humanity," Naomi says. "I was hoping you could tell me more."

He smiles. "It would be my honor."


	2. Chapter 2

Sam slices his machete through the neck of the vampire in front of him and sizes up the three more hovering just outside of his reach – two in front, one behind. He'd lost track of Dean in the tunnels and is hoping that his brother has had better luck getting to the nest to kill their leader. On his own, he's going to need a lot of luck himself just getting out of here, luck that's felt in short supply these days. Perhaps-

"Cas," he murmurs, gripping his machete tightly. "If you're out there, if you're ready, I could sure use your help here." It's become a mantra. Maybe one day he'll get an answ-

The faint sound of wings fluttering behind him is the sweetest thing he's heard in months.

"Cas? Is that you?"

"Samuel," the angel acknowledges. There's a tone in his voice Sam doesn't quite recognize, something other than the slightly stilted angel who met them after Purgatory. "It is good to m- see you."

"Oh my god, Cas, Dean's gonna be so-" The vampire on his left feints forward, eyes flickering between Sam and the new figure, then darts backward.

"I am grateful that you prayed to me, Samuel. I could not find you on my own."

Like Orpheus, Sam doesn't dare look back at the angel, keeping his eyes firmly on the vampires in front of him. They shift uneasily, looking back and forth between him and the figure that has just materialized by their prey.

Sam shuffles backwards towards Castiel. "Have you seen Dean, Cas? We got split up. We've got to-"

There's another flutter of wings, and then Cas is right at his back. "This place is too dangerous for you, Sam." A flash of light almost blinds him, and the vampires crumble into dust. "I don't know what your alpha was thinking."

Sam barely has time to get out a startled, "Hey!" when the angel wraps an arm around his waist and flaps his wings, and then they are in front of Dean.

_Dean._ He's bloody, battered but – to Sam's deep relief – unbitten and otherwise whole.

"Cas!" Dean's face lights up when he sees the angel. "Boy, are you a sight for sore eyes."

"It is a pleasure to gaze upon you, as well," Castiel says, and something's still a little… off about that sentence, but Sam can't put his finger on it.

Then he remembers… "Alpha? What-" He tries to disentangle himself from Cas, but can't – the grip is too tight. "Cas, could you…" he gestures at his waist.

Castiel looks at him for a moment, but does not let go. "Sam prayed to me, Dean. It would have taken me longer to find you otherwise. You should have prayed to me as well. If I hadn't gotten here, something bad could have happened." He turns to look at Dean. "You must be more careful in the future. This is no place for an omega."

Dean looks puzzled. "A whatsit now?"

Sam lifts his hands and shrugs. _Beats me._

"Be at ease," Castiel says, placing his other hand on Dean's shoulder. "All will be clear in time. We must go now, before the rift closes. The others are waiting on us."

Dean furrows his brows. "Others?"

Castiel cocks his head. "My brothers and sisters, with the other breeding pairs, of course."

Castiel's wings close over them then, and all Sam knows is darkness.

Darkness is all Sam knows when he wakes up, too.

He tries to open his eyes but there's something soft but firm running over them – not a mask or a blindfold, but bigger, covering his cheeks and nose. Whatever it is, it doesn't obstruct his nostrils at least, although it does make him snuffle a little when he exhales, like a horse.

Which also means he can hear, too, even if it's only the sound of his own panicked breathing. He tries to call out for Dean or Cas then, but it's like his voice has been stolen. His mouth opens, but no sound comes out besides a soft exhale. And when he turns his head, he can tell there's something firm and stiff circling his throat.

Frantic now, he makes an aborted attempt to clear his eyes or free his throat, but he can't move his arms. He can feel them, vaguely, twisted behind him, and as the feeling begins to return, he realizes his hands are clasped together behind his back, arms twisted up into a reverse prayer position and bound there. In fact, when he twists left and right, he can feel material shifting across his body, what feels like leather straps encircling his chest, and thighs. And there's a thing – hard, but flexible – lodged in his, his… his ass, and something else wrapped tightly and unforgivingly around his cock, pressing his cock down sharply to kiss his balls.

Other than that, he's naked.

He's on a bed of some kind, softer than any hotel mattress he's ever slept on. In any other circumstance, it might feel comforting. As it is… as _he_ is, bare, bound, blinded… it's ominous as fuck.

Sam's first thoughts are of Lucifer and his games. The fact that he can't smell sulfur is the only thing that keeps him from a full-blown panic attack. He uses his feet to scrabble into a sitting position, ignoring the slightly dulled pressure it places on whatever is stuffed inside him. Shifting around lets him know that there are cuffs on his ankles and what feels like a short leather rope between them, and it takes him a few tries before he adjusts enough to keep his balance. It's pure luck that his flailing ends with tapping his head against the wall, rather than falling off one of the sides. With a little effort, he scoots backward, pushing pillows and bedding out of the way until his arms and back are pressed against the wall.

This is insane, he thinks. He's trussed up like some kind of bondage doll, hobbled and helpless with his junk just… visible there for anyone to see, or grab, or...

He crosses his legs, trying to cover himself up, but the covers are twisted up under him, so he only succeeds in losing his balance and toppling himself over onto his stomach. The setback is the last straw, and he wastes time flailing about and kicking anything he can reach away from him. It's less comfortable on the bed without them, but as he lies there panting afterwards, just him and the sheet below him, he feels a little satisfied anyway.

Fear rears back up with the slam of a door and the sound of someone moving swiftly towards him. Instinct takes over, and without thinking, Sam twists his body so that his hands are back against the wall and arches his back, kicking both feet out together and right into what he hopes is the groin of whoever is coming for him…

…right as his unknown visitor exclaims, "Sammy!"

From the lack of give under his heels when they connect, the impact was a little low – probably a thigh instead of the genitals, which... Not much stopping power there. He hopes vindictively that it will leave a bruise. And then the voice registers, and Sam's self-recriminations over his bad aim are swallowed up by his overwhelming relief at the sound of his brother's voice, followed by a thud and a groan when he hits the ground.

The collar around his neck springs to life then and electricity arcs through him and he _screams_.

Or tries to, anyway.

Someplace else, someplace beyond the pain that is locking every muscle in place, he can hear Dean yelling again, and some kind of loud droning voice answering. It's words, but the words don't make _sense_. Or, well, they _do_ , would, might if he could just _think_ -

After an eternity or two, the collar stops, and sound begins to filter back in.

"-ou can't DO that! He just woke up! He didn't mean to break your stupid rules, he was just startled! It's not his fault!"

He's yelling at a recording, Sam realizes, a prim female voice that is repeating, _"The role of the omega is to obey. The role of the omega is to submit. The role of the omega is to comply."_ It's like a scene out of a bad sci fi movie, and Sam would very much like to leave the theater now, please. Except he can't.

Dean's talking again, Sam thinks. He should be listening.

The collar vibrates again, then, like it somehow heard what he was thinking, and suddenly Sam feels _good_ , like the moment when the morphine finally hits after your bone gets set and everything is floaty and pain-free.

_"The reward for compliance is pleasure,"_ the female recording repeats. _"The role of the omega is to submit. The reward for submission is pleasure."_

"Sammy?" The bed depresses, and suddenly Dean is right next to him, he can _smell_ him, he smells like gun oil and leather and just a little bit of sweat and musk, the good kind that makes him want to press his nose right up and-

Dean scoots back on the mattress until he's seated right next to Sam's head. Sam presses his face against it instinctively, hoping for the comforting feel of denim on his cheeks. From the feel of it, though, it's just skin and leather; he's as naked as Sam. The thought makes Sam's heart thump faster.

A second later, Dean's hand comes down tentatively on Sam's hair, tousling it lightly. "Uh, this is gonna sound weird as fuck, but I need you to put your head in my lap, Sammy. Think you can do that?" There's a pause, then, "Oh, right, you can't talk yet. How the hell am I – fuck it, never mind. Just, uh, wiggle about a foot closer to me, that's fine."

Sam feels too fine to even think of arguing. The new position is awkward and weird – until he rolls on his back, Dean's not-inconsiderable endowment is just inches away from his nose, and the new position isn't much better. It's impossible not to feel Dean's penis pressing gently against the back of his head, and the earthy smell is back, the scent of clean sweat and musk.

A jarringly conflicting feeling of homesickness and being home passes over him and he gives in to the urge to nuzzle his head against Dean's stomach, flaring his nostrils wide to take in as much of his scent as possible. He wants to _lick_ it, and he knows that should seem weird, wrong, upsetting… but he can't remember why. A few minutes ago, he was freaking out about being naked, but now it doesn't seem like such a big deal.

_"The role of the alpha is to protect,"_ the recording says. _"The role of the omega is to be cherished."_

The position is apparently what their captors want, however, as another surge of pleasure runs through Sam once he settles. It's strange, having his cock not respond, but the muted vibrations that run through his ass make up for it, which is another thing he never thought he'd feel. He wonders idly if Dean is feeling something similar and gets his answer as he feels Dean's rapidly swelling erection below him. The recorded voice is saying something else now, but he can't concentrate enough to make sense.

"That's it," Dean says encouragingly. "I gotta – this situation is so fucked, Sammy, but I swear to you, I'm not gonna let anything bad happen, okay?"

_Okay_ , Sam thinks, and then nods, trying to ignore the way his movements make Dean's penis bob up underneath him.

"Chri-oookay, do me and little Dean a favor and don't do that, okay? Just, uh…" Dean shifts himself slightly, so that Sam's head is on his thigh again. "Yeah, that's better."

His hand returns to stroking Sam's hair, and Sam is 100-per-cent okay with that.

He can feel Dean take a deep breath, and then-

"Okay, I know this sounds insane, but we're not on Earth. Not _our_ earth, anyway, if that makes any sense."

There are a thousand questions Sam wants to ask, but he can't make a single sound, can't even tap out a code. It's torture. He huffs a little, the only sound he can easily make, the scent of his brother filling his nostrils, and Dean chuckles at him.

"I know, it sucks. But I gotta give you the stupid history lesson first before we can figure out what we wanna do about it." His hand strays from Sam's hair, down along his side and hip, and Sam's skin tingles wherever it touches. He closes his eyes – at least, he _thinks_ he does, and it feels comforting.

"Okay, so, God apparently made millions of universes," Dean continues, "so this is like the universe next door, and the angels here are even bigger dicks than the ones in ours because over here, Heaven _declared_ war on earth without ever raising Lucifer, and of course they won, and they turned humans into their pets 'for our own good', or some bullshit like that. And then they showed up in _our_ universe, and whoever's running Heaven sold us and a bunch of other people to these guys. And _their_ Cas is the specific angel dick that bought us."

He leans down and mutters quietly, "By the way, that Cas that showed up to fight the vamps? Yeah. That was their Cas, not _ours_. I know, looks exactly like him, crappy brown trench coat and wrinkled tie and all, but he's a dick, and everybody here treats him like he's some big general or something." Then he kisses Sam's forehead and straightens up, and Sam wonders if that wasn't part of the speech he was supposed to be giving.

Dean's hand returns to petting his hair, and between the fingers caressing his locks and the compelling scent coming from his skin, Sam almost stops paying attention and lets himself drift. But then Dean's fingers still and he makes this weird, almost subvocal _growl_ , and Sam can't help but roll onto his back and tilt his back into Dean's lap, displaying his neck.

He has no idea why. Or why, when Dean places a hand over his neck, he suddenly relaxes and goes boneless.

"Stay with me, okay," Dean asks, and he sounds almost embarrassed, presumably by Sam and his weird physiological reactions. "This next part's real important. Everything else is kind of the preamble. That collar around your neck? We both got one. Some kinda fucked up grace-powered shock collar, I guess. I don't know what kinda mojo is inside it, but as long as you're wearing it, an angel tells you to do something and it makes you just do it, and that includes just blacking out if they tell you to. It's freaky as hell, but I don't think it's gonna hurt you or anything." He lowers his voice and continues, "I haven't figured a way to get it off it yet, but I'm working on it, okay?"

He takes his hand off Sam's throat, and Sam immediately curls back into Dean's lap, nose pressed against his stomach.

"You gonna be good and pay attention?" Dean asks, and Sam nods. "They did a bunch of other stuff to us, too, but I haven't figured it all out yet. All of us got divided into two groups, alphas and omegas, and then they assigned an alpha for every omega. You're mine, of course. The angels are big on following orders and chains of command – I gotta answer to Cas, and he says you're supposed to answer to me. That shit they did to you is supposed to help you get used to it. The whole weird bondage stuff is part of it, too. I overheard them talking about how it forces you to get used to depending on me for everything. Which is stupid, considering how we grew up and all, but that's angels for you. They said it'll come off once everything's been, uh, integrated."

Sam knows he should be upset about this. None of this is normal, and what's more upsetting is, _he's_ not normal. He remembers normal, and this isn't it. But it _feels_ normal.

It's just like – Dean's cock is right _there_ , and for some reason, there's nothing he wants more than to suck on it right now. It feels like the best idea in the world. After all, Dean likes his cock getting sucked, and Sam likes making Dean happy. And even if he's never done it before, how hard can it be? He grinds his shoulder into Dean's leg to flip himself face down, or at least sideways in the right direction, and then-

_"Sam?"_ Dean asks incredulously, and-

_Hel-lo_ , Sam thinks happily as his lips bump into something long, hard and delicious smelling. He wishes he could see it – it's probably perfect. And then his mind supplies all those times when they were in a hurry and had to share the bathroom to shower and shave, and other times by the urinal sneaking glances just because being curious about what your brother is packing is natural, and it's always been impressive. So having it next to his lips makes him just want to curl his tongue out and-

"Sammy!" Dean jumps, his hand smacking down reflexively across Sam's ass. "I need you-" his voice cracks. "I need you to think here, man. You were just about to suck my dick – have you ever, ever wanted to do that before? No. And I never wanted you to. This isn't right, man. This isn't _us_. It's all this alpha-omega stuff, it's just got us all fucked up…"

He feels hard as stone, though, so Sam knows at least part of him is lying. Part of him _wants_ Sam's lips wrapped around it, even if he won't admit it. And _all_ of Sam wants it, so…

_"The reward for submission is pleasure,"_ the voice had said.

Sam swallows Dean down to the root, gagging a little when his cock brushes the back of his throat, but he's right, it's the most perfect dick ever.

"Oh god," Dean says, and his voice cracks again, and Sam would be smug about that if he weren't far too interested in seeing how easy it is to lick his tongue up and down its length and he swallows. "Sammy, you gotta – I don't have the control yet, you need to pull off or-"

Dean's cock is growing again, even more than before – not longer, but wider, and only down near the base. He should be freaked out about it, but instead it turns him on even more. The next time he pushes his mouth down over it, he realizes it's slightly bulbous and swollen, like a ball. When he goes to pull back, Dean's hands fly to his head, holding him in place as the ball expands even further, locking itself behind his teeth.

Sam's pleasure senses light up instantly, like an all-body orgasm, and it's like he's _flying_. Some of it's from the collar, he's sure, but the rest comes from the wave of contentment that happens when Dean's knot inflates, pressing his tongue to the base of his mouth and filling his mouth like a built-in ball gag. His muscles just go limp when Dean starts to come and just keeps on coming, salty liquid pouring over his tongue and down his throat. It makes his head feel all floaty, like he can't imagine anything better than doing this forever. Dean keeps his grip firm in Sam's throat, his breath coming ragged and hot as he holds Sam in place. It's the most blissful sense of peace he's ever felt.

And Sam just… drifts away.

"-age one, as you can see."

Sam comes back to himself to the sound of a conversation happening nearby. He can't place the first voice, a reedy male tenor. Could be anyone. But he'd know the second's gravelly voice anywhere.

"Excellent." It's Cas. Or… some version of him, anyway.

Clearing the fog from his head is enough for the embarrassment to set in. _He's got Dean's cock in his mouth_. And that's not it. He's ass-up, naked and bound on the bed, with Dean's dick buried to the root between his lips, and – he tests the theory – yeah, that weird knob is still too swollen for him to let go.

Not that he wants to, and hey, that fact is weird and a little uncomfortable. But also, his limbs still feel heavy and wooden, like he's been drugged. By Dean's cum? That would be odd, and wrong, but then again so is whatever weird thing has happened to Dean's dick.

Oh, and hey, that conversation is still happening.

"-were right, by the way; this pair bonded almost immediately. Took them less than five minutes, which might be a new record."

"It was to be expected," Cas says, like he might be talking about a cat or dog, not the humans he defied heaven for. "They were practically soul-bonded when we got them. Activating their dynamics would have amplified those natural inclinations, and since we kept them apart until the manifestations were stable-"

"-it would have created a feedback deficit that sought to stabilize at the earliest opportunity."

"Exactly. This knotting will cement that, as well as reinforce their natural inclinations. Forward all the feedback from the collars to my account. If things progress as well as I expect them to, we may want to use the cupids to see if we can replicate the soul-bond among some of the others."

Cas's voice gets closer as he keeps talking, and suddenly fingers are pressing on Sam's cheeks and lips, testing Dean's – what are they calling it, _knot?_ – from the outside. He doesn't like it – in fact, he _hates_ it, strange digits coming in and touching him when he can't move or do anything to get away-

Dean wakes up with a snarl. "Cas, what the f-" is all Dean manages before his voice chokes off and his fingers clench tightly in Sam's hair, and Sam can feel his muscles lock up.

There's a tingle that runs along Sam's skin where they're connected, which he takes to mean that Dean's collar has a similar shock feature. It's not painful, just distracting. Dean's penis jumps and spurts with every shock, and Sam gets distracted chasing down every drop with his tongue.

"The tie is excellent," Cas says, startling Sam. He forgot about him, even though he was standing right there. _How_ did he forget about him?

A finger pokes Sam's cheek again even as he tries to squirm further into Dean's protection. "It's been, what, half an hour?" Strangely, it doesn't bother him as much now, maybe because Dean is awake. Some kind of emotional trigger? Part of all the weird alpha and omega thing Dean was trying to explain?

"28 minutes," the other voice supplies.

"I'd say we're looking at another half-hour minimum before they untie. That's very good." Cas's hand brushes over Sam's hair, patting Dean's fingers as they go. "I know this is strange for you both, but you're doing very well. At this rate, you'll be able to be moved to the house sooner than we'd anticipated."

There's a shuffling of fabric as Cas stands up, and then a slight growl from Dean and something Sam can't see.

"Listen to the collars," Castiel says. "They're here to help you."

Then there's just the sound of footsteps as Castiel and his associate move off.

"Well, that was fucked up like a soup sandwich," Dean says, watching Castiel walk away. "I did figure out one thing, though. That guy's wearing our Cas like a skin suit. I could see some of the scars he got in Purgatory."

Sam tilts his head, and Dean knows that if he didn't have that blindfold, he'd be giving him those puppy-dog eyes of his. "Yeah, yeah, maybe that means our angel's in there someplace. Don't mean it's not still fucked up."

And Sam looks… Sammy looks gorgeous, even with half his face covered with that soft black leather, hair pulled back into a ponytail between the straps, lips wrapped around Dean's _knot_ as he fuckin' nuzzles his face against Dean's thigh.

Everything is off-kilter, like a bootleg Turkish remake of a blockbuster movie. This is earth, but it's not the right earth. Cas is here, but he's not the right Cas, and also some kind of Nazi angel geneticist. Sam's still his brother, but also his lover.

Okay, that last part doesn't feel bad. In fact, it feels right, dangerously so, especially since no matter how hot it is seeing Sam's cheeks swollen around his knot, locked safely where he belongs… this thing between them has to go away before he and Sammy get out of this place. No matter what his currently fucked up brain is telling him, once they get back home, this thing between them is never gonna happen again. Even if the biggest part of him doesn't want anything more than to just sit here and let Sam hang off his dick.

_I really should get us some food_ , he thinks. But then Sam makes this kind of sleepy happy-moan that gets Dean's dick hardening again, and he threads his fingers even more tightly through Sam's hair. _Maybe just another half-hour or so._

No one's ever said Dean Winchester was perfect. Especially not where his dick is involved.

One thing hasn't changed, though. He's gonna do whatever he has to do to take care of Sam. _Castiel_ made that clear: As an alpha, Dean's responsible for his omega – Sam – and his happiness, comfort and safety. It'll be easier down the road, Cas says, when Sam's fully settled into his role, but right now, it feels all-encompassing. All the kinky leather and straps are held on with some kind of angel superglue; they're not coming off until Cas wants them to. Which means Sam's staying helpless until he learns to let himself be completely dependent on Dean.


	3. Chapter 3

Time passes, although how much, Sam's not sure. The periods when he's awake blend into a surreal blur. All it takes is a whiff of his scent in Sam's nose or a taste on his tongue and the floaty feeling returns full-force. At some point, the annoying lecture-y voice stops broadcasting, which should be ominous, but… _Dean_.

Sam and the collar have gotten a _lot_ more intimately acquainted, especially toward the beginning. Trying to leave the room without Dean, bad. Letting Dean feed him, good. Trying to find the bathroom on his own, bad. Letting Dean take the lead, good. Getting shocked sucks, but the rewarded part is nice. He doesn't care about upsetting the angels; he got over his awe at them long ago. He _does_ care about disappointing his brother, however. It's not like he asked for any of this, either. And Dean always adds his own rewards on top of the collar's good feelings.

In many ways, Sam is now closer to Dean than he ever dared to dream, and happier than he ever thought possible – being petted and hand-fed, bathed and scrubbed clean, sleeping curled up with strong arms holding him tight, even having Dean hold his shoulder as he leads him around. Other experiences he may have grown used to but will never enjoy, such as having to get Dean's help to not piss himself through the cage on his cock. Or, worse yet, having Dean have to clean him out when his other needs have to get handled. (The plug, it turns out, has holes that can be opened to accommodate regular every-other-day cleanings, and seriously, the less said about that the better.)

Dean spends the time when he's not with Sam exploring their environment and trying to spy on the angels. It doesn't get him very far, not with Sam's enforced dependence on him. It might also be part of his new alpha instincts, which would imply that Sam's passivity might also be externally instigated, but… Sam just can't bring himself to care enough to pursue that line of thought. Not when Dean is right there, pulling him close.

According to Dean, the bedroom where they spend the majority of their time is part of some larger, prison or hospital-like facility. There are a bunch of shared bathrooms, as well as medical stations. There are other alpha-omega pairs here, but Dean makes them keep their distance, growling low in his throat in the bathrooms and yard whenever one gets too close for his comfort. He always apologizes later, aware of how insanely possessive the behavior makes him seem. And Sam knows it should piss him off, having Dean keep them isolated from the world, but it just makes him feel safe.

There's not a lot to do during the day, but Sam doesn't care. He's usually too busy with his lips wrapped around Dean's knot. Not being able to see Dean bothers him, but their new physical closeness more than makes up for it. Sam's dick is still locked away and he hasn't had an erection since he got here, but since he's had more than his share of orgasms regardless, it's more of a sad afterthought than a pressing concern, like not getting the maraschino cherry on top of a delicious chocolate shake. He can live without it.

Part of Sam– the part that drove him to question every order their Dad gave until he fled to college and a world that made sense – _knows_ that something is seriously wrong. He's never felt this calm, this unafraid. Even when Zachariah chucked them into a weird office world, Sam was the one who had to question everything until it came apart at the scenes. Now, he doesn't want to question anything too deeply. Maybe that's the difference. Zachariah was trying to drive a wedge between them. As fucked up as the situation is when Sam thinks about it, all of Castiel's actions are tying them closer together.

Sam knows they should be figuring out some way to escape back to their world. Sure, there are a lot less monsters after they defeated Eve, and the Leviathans are all gone now, but there are still angels and demons, and people who need saving. The problem is (and he'll never admit this to Dean, but he can admit it to himself) that he doesn't entirely _want_ to. He's been running on fumes since he got his soul back, and this is the longest time he's had since Stanford to relax and not worry about anything.

But this is also the longest time _ever_ that he's had Dean's undivided attention, something he's dreamed of since he was a little kid. Dean was always four years ahead of him and trying to be older than that, always running after Dad, or girls, or his friends, or the next hunt. Sam ran after him until he realized he'd never really catch up. Stanford was safe, and normal, sure, but it was also his way of recognizing that he'd never get what he wanted.

He wonders if that's why the angels rendered him so absolutely helpless. It's impossible to keep fighting when you absolutely can't fight. And it's impossible to run away, even from yourself.

"I'm concerned about you, Sam," Cas says on his next visit.

Since Sam woke up, he's visited them regularly, often with an assistant tagging along as he pokes and prods at them like a pair of beloved show dogs. Sam doesn't like it, but Dean says it's important to gather as much information as possible. Sam doesn't know exactly _what_ information they're looking for, though. He thinks Dean is just worried about their friend, but doesn't want to admit it. Sam can't blame him; he's worried too.

Dean's not here right now, though. Cas did – _something_ – to his collar when he arrived, and Dean fell asleep, and then Cas instructed his assistant to take him in for his final medical check-up. Which is why Sam is sitting against the wall, legs folded underneath him and face turned resolutely away from Castiel. Cas took Dean away, so Cas can go hang.

Unfortunately, Cas isn't taking the hint.

"Dean's adapted remarkably quickly," he says. "The damage that Hell and Purgatory inflicted on his soul has been all but mended. He's become a model alpha, and he's entirely devoted to you. He's _happy_ , Sam. It's clear this is what he was meant to be. Which is why I've been spending a lot of time wondering… you're his soulmate, Sam, so why are you struggling?"

An arm wraps around Sam and pulls him close, ignoring the fact that Sam's ignoring him. Up close, Cas smells like petrichor and sunlight and spring. He never noted it before, but now it's impossible to avoid. It's one of his favorite smells, and right now he hates Cas for ruining it for him.

"All of the other omegas have fully integrated into their new roles by now, but here you are, almost as helpless and dependent on your alpha as the day you woke up." Cas's arm strokes up and down Sam's flank. It's entirely non-sexual, meant to be comforting, and it is. Sam still bristles at it a little – it's not Dean, after all – but in the end he can't help but lean into it. Usually Cas talks over him, not to him, like a pet instead of a friend, and it's almost so close to the way _their_ Cas used to talk that Sam wants to cry.

"I've been through all the numbers, and all of my- your Castiel's memories, trying to figure out how the system was failing you, and I think I know what's going on."

_That makes one of us_ , Sam thinks darkly.

"As it turns out, I don't think the system is failing you at all," Cas says, his gravelly voice filled with an almost cloying level of compassion. "I think you could easily integrate any time you felt like it and get back your voice, your sight, your freedom."

_Freedom, hah_.

Cas squeezes Sam to him again. "I think you're _choosing_ not to."

Sam jerks away with a huff, offended at the idea that he would _choose_ to-

"I think you _like_ being this close to Dean," Cas continues, letting his hand rest on Sam's shoulder. "Him hand-feeding you, grooming you, giving you constant attention… you've blossomed under it. And I think you're _scared_ that if you integrate with your omega nature, really accept that this is who you are, you'll lose it, so you're refusing what your soul knows it needs."

Cas pats him. It's supposed to be comforting, but it feels condescending. He keeps tossing around terms like integrate, but what exactly is it supposed to _mean_. This isn't who Sam is. This something that Cas has done to him. He's not scared. He never wanted this. He doesn't want-

He does want Dean.

"You trust Dean to take care of you for the moment," Cas says. "You trust him to love you. But you don't trust him _enough_."

_That's ridiculous_ , Sam thinks. Of course he trusts Dean. Dean's given up everything for him. Dean's never once-

_(you don't know what you're doing Sam)_

"You trust Dean to know what you need, but Sam…" Cas pauses, "do you trust him to stay once you _don't_ need him?"

Of _course_ Sam trusts him. Why wouldn't he? Sure there have been some rocky patches. But they've gotten through it. Dean's his stone-number one, his…

_(you walk out that door, don't you ever come back)_

Sam turns his face away from the angel. It's not like that anymore. There's no pain when he thinks of Dean now, just love.

"I know it's hard, Sam. For a very long time, not trusting people has kept you safe. But it's not true now. It's not true here. That's what being an omega is all about – it's why Heaven _gave_ humanity the gift. Dean became an alpha because he has an innate need to protect those he loves. And you, you became an omega, because you have an innate need to be loved. You don't have to be afraid. Dean's your alpha, now, and that's forever. You just have to trust in the process."

And then he leaves, and Sam is alone with his thoughts for the first time in weeks? Months?

It can't be that simple. There's no way Sam would _choose_ to stay this helpless, this dependent. Cas is simply wrong.

_(the look on Dean's face when he left for Stanford)_

_(calls to voicemail and a disconnected number)_

_(I'm done trying to save you)_

_(we're better off apart)_

No, he thinks resolutely, chasing the fears from his mind. He _trusts_ Dean. They've had more than their share of problems, but in the end, it's no question. There's no one he trusts more. And he'll figure out some way to make damn sure Dean knows that when he gets back, no matter what it takes.

_When_ he gets back…

Sam's thoughts slow to a stop, realizing that for the first time in _years_ , there's no doubt in his mind that Dean will come back to him. He knows this from the bottom of his soul. He's been through hell, heaven, purgatory and death. It's the most fucked up version of for better or for worse, but it's real.

Whether or not Sam ever wanted this, specifically, Dean's it for him now, and he's it for Dean.

There's no one he trusts more.

He thinks about that, really thinks about it.

There's _no one_ he trusts more.

About half a minute later, his collar emits a series of shrill, staccato beeps and then stills. About half a minute after that, the top corner of the blindfold covering his eyes slowly peels down, and then the whole blindfold pulls away from his face with a _shuff_ and falls to the ground, leaving Sam blinking and shaking his head as his vision returns. For the first time since he first woke up, he can see the room's spartan grey walls and minimalist structure – a bed, a corner full of pillows, and not much else.

He twists when he hears footsteps coming and to his surprise, his wrists unclench and the straps binding them fall to the ground. His arms are still stiff from being locked in place, and he hasn't yet gotten his shoulders to free them when Dean comes running into the room, feet pounding down the hall while Sam's still looking around in wonder.

"Sammy!" Dean says, launching himself at Sam with a grin. His velocity is enough to knock Sam over onto his back, arms still pinned behind him. Sam's legs part naturally, making room for Dean in-between them.

"Look at you, baby brother," he says with a smile. "There are those gorgeous hazel eyes I've been missing."

Sam tilts his head back in an invitation, lips parting in anticipation. Dean does not disappoint, leaning in to take his breath away with a kiss that lasts an eternity.

Sam's been sucking Dean's cock forever now, or so it seems, but this position revs up fires of an entirely different sort. The leather bands on Dean's body aren't there to restrain him in any way, but to highlight and accentuate his muscles. His hefty cock is jutting against Sam's chastity cage, which can't feel as good to Dean as it does to him, but Dean doesn't seem to care. Instead, he just grinds down against Sam, his erection rapidly growing rock-hard from the friction.

"You gonna be a good boy for me, Sammy?" Dean growls out, and yes, Sam thinks, he can be a good boy. He can be the _best_ boy for Dean. But he can't say any of that, so he widens his eyes and nods, trusting that Dean will understand him.

Dean swivels his hips in response, setting up a dirty grind that he punctuates with kisses and compliments, and it's not long before Sam feels his knot swelling between their bodies. Part of him wants to throw Dean off and dive to his knees to swallow it down, but a look at Dean's hungry expression and he knows that Dean wants, _needs_ something different from him.

He lets himself go limp under Dean, tilting his head back to reveal the strip of skin between his neck and collar, and _submits_. Dean's eyes widen, nostrils flaring. Then he leans forward, bites at the exposed skin, and comes.

Dean's cum spurts between them, covering Sam's stomach and chest and mixing with Sam's own fluids, and Sam is instantly flooded with the collar's orgasmic feel-good vibes. Sometime later, when they've both come back to themselves, he realizes the collar never buzzed. Everything he's just experienced, the overwhelming bliss and contentment – that's all him.

Dean rolls to one side, running his hand over Sam's abdomen and massaging all of the cum into Sam's skin. "That's better," he all but purrs. "Now you smell right. Smell like us."

Sam wrinkles his nose. "Ew." Then he jumps at the sound of his own voice, pauses, and tries it out again as his shoulders finally loosen up enough to free his hands.

"Dean." It's more of a croak than anything. He coughs, rubs his wrists, and tries again. _"Dean."_

In response, his brother leans over and kisses him. "Keep saying it, Sammy. I like hearing my name on your lips."

Sam says it a lot that day.

Castiel watches their progress from a distance. "It's a kindness, really," he says absently to Hannah, his assistant for the day. "They've lived such pathetic, guilt-ridden lives before now, layered in shame and despair and self-hatred. It's amazing how such simple creatures survived before we intervened."

Hannah tilts her head and smiles. "Our father would be proud of the work we've done."

Castiel nods with appropriate humility. "Everything we do, we do in his glory." He watches, head cocked, as the mated pair begin to rut against each other again. "The next time that Samuel demonstrates sufficiently omega behavior, you may open the remaining locks. They're ready to breed."

Somewhere deep inside him, there's a pang, but then it's gone.


	4. Chapter 4

Sam's breakthrough ripples through everything between them after that.

He hadn't realized how much of himself he'd closed off after going to hell – years before that, really, surgically removing or altering pieces of his soul in an effort to fit in, to keep people close, to be what was expected of him. To be self-sufficient, because everyone else had something more important to worry about. It had kept him safe, or some equivalent of it, kept the hurt of being seen as lesser or evil and the sting of his failures and betrayals locked at bay. It's his choice, he's told himself, the best way to keep the people around him safe.

He's never before realized how lonely he's been.

Now, the choice has been taken out of his hands, and a weight has been lifted off his chest. When Dean pulls him in to kneel between his legs, he goes happily, tilting his head up to let his brother (alpha) feed him pieces of fruit, cheese, bread and meat. All of the food is delicious, but what Sam loves most is the besotted look on Dean's face when Sam wraps his tongue and lips around each finger, licking and sucking until they are clean of all crumbs and juices. Most times, the meals end with him between Dean's thighs, licking and sucking down the alpha's dick like he is still somehow famished.

The first few times, Dean indulges him. On the third day, however, he puts a hand on Sam's shoulder, ignoring Sam's whine as he stops him from going further.

"Ask me first."

Heat flares through Sam at the command. Before all of… _this_ Sam would have bristled at the tone (not that he ever would have been in this position in the first place). Now, though, he flushes red and sinks lower, head tilted up to meet Dean's gaze.

_"Alpha,"_ he murmurs, letting the phrase be a prayer on his lips. Then he lowers his eyes, nuzzling into the musky crease between Dean's thigh and his groin, ripe with skin sweat and . Kissing the skin, he murmurs, _"Please. Let me taste you."_

"Better," Dean rumbles, and Sam knows he shouldn't find it as hot as it is. _The role of the omega is to obey_ , the recorded voice echoes inside his brain.

Dean slides his hips forward and cants his knees outward in clear invitation, permission for Sam to come closer.

"Don't suck," he instructs. "Just hold it for now. Keep it warm."

It's not quite as satisfying as holding Dean's knot, Sam decides, but he understands: that's not the point. The point is the conscious act of submission, remaining alert and dedicated to his task – an act of devotion and worship.

Sam's so single-mindedly focused on his task, in fact, that he doesn't even notice it when the mechanisms locking his cock cage and plug in place retract.

Dean, of course, notices. Within seconds, Sam's on his back and Dean is pulling off the last of Sam's restraints with a whoop, and then inspecting what's been hidden from them. Sam leans up as soon as he can, reclining to look down at himself.

…which is… nothing?

Everything looks normal, although it'd be easier to tell in a mirror. His cock is soft, but about the same size it always is, just like the rest of his junk. There's maybe a bit less hair down there, but there's a bit less hair everywhere below the neck, really, so he shouldn't be surprised.

Dean is fascinated, though, and now it's his turn to be nose deep in all of Sam's crevices and folds, sniffing and licking and pressing his mouth and fingers so hard into Sam's skin that he's going to leave bruises behind.

Sam's erect and ready to burst within seconds later, and surprises himself and Dean with the absolute whine that rips out of him as Dean manhandles him.

"What's that Sammy?" Dean asks innocently. "Did you want something?"

"Dean," Sam gasps out, hips bucking uncontrollably. "Please – I need-" He _needs_ to grab Dean's head and thrust up into his mouth, but his new instincts know better. He presses his hands up above his head and holds them there to avoid the temptation. "Please," he groans, "please, can I- I need…"

In response, Dean grips the base of his cock and _squeezes_ , forcing the cum backwards into his tubes. All of Sam's muscles clench down, and the air fills with a slightly sweet smell as something underneath Sam _squelches_.

"Aaah- Dean-"

"Cool your jets, Sam, I'll get you there." He keeps a tight grip on Sam's cock, even as he bends down and licks up the precum beading on the tip. "I just need to be sure we're on the same page."

"Don't know, don't care," Sam spits out, eyes shut in a grimace as his body again tries and is forbidden to come. "Whatever it is, the answer's yes."

"You don't even-" Dean's cock is jutting out, long and hard – larger now than Sam's, he notices, which is new, and he reminds himself that Dean is calling the shots now.

"I said _yes_ , Dean. _Yes_. Whatever it is you want to do, I trust you, so yes!"

Dean's eyes darken. "Sammy, I-"

_"Alpha_ ," Sam pulls out the big guns, and he can see the shiver run down Dean's spine.

"Okay," he spits out, voice full of sinful promise as he pulls Sam's hips towards him and lifts them up. "Here's how it's gonna go, then, Sam. You can come whenever you want today, as much as you want, but I'm not gonna stop until _I'm_ satisfied, not even if you're coming dry. You got that?"

Sam's got that, all right. He nods at Dean with a quiet, "Yes, alpha" and spreads his legs as he folds them back towards his waist, feeling deliciously wanton when he feels Dean's hot breath on the backs of his thighs.

Two of Dean's fingers immediately home in on Sam's ass, circling the rim. For a moment, Sam wonders when Dean found the lube, but then Dean chuckles and says, "Look at you, _omega_ , all spread out and wet for me."

Before Sam can think about what that means, Dean's lips descend over his cock and his fingers slide into his ass, and Sam _comes_ , eyes rolling back as Dean locks on like a vacuum, sucking up every last drop of semen. Meanwhile his fingers home in Sam's prostate and begin to incessantly rub-rub-rub over it, starting up a rhythm that quickly restores Sam's flagging erection to full strength.

"So fucking pretty, Sammy," he murmurs, pulling his fingers out and nudging Sam's thighs. Sam obligingly spreads them further as Dean moves forward, lining himself up and pushing in as he leans down. Sam pants through the discomfort – no pain, but Dean is _big_ and Sam's never-

Dean props himself up on one elbow as he mutters, "Gonna make you mine forever, Sammy, no one else's and I'm not even sorry, I woulda done this that night I came for you at Stanford if I could have, made sure you were no one but mine-"

He reaches down with the fingers of his other hand, running them around Sam's hole, feeling how they are joined together, how Sam's muscles flutter under his touch as Dean slips in that last inch. Then he holds up his fingers to Sam's lips, moist and glistening. Right after Sam licks them clean, Dean plunges his tongue into Sam's mouth, chasing after the taste.

When Dean begins moving, he's a force of nature, fierce, feral and unyielding, thick cock slamming in and out like he's trying to merge them into one being, balls slapping meatily against Sam's ass as Sam thrusts up to meet him. There's no room for words between them, the pace almost hypnotic in the rise and fall, hips to hips, hearts to hearts. Someplace in the middle of it, Sam comes again, but arousal crashes back over him like a wave right after, like he'd never come at all or never stopped.

Sam feels the stretch as Dean's knot begins to swell and instinctively submits, muscles going relaxed to let the rounded base slip into his hole, then clenching tight to keep him inside. Just like when Dean knots his mouth, he gets that floaty, full-body orgasm feel, although this time his cock is free to get in on the action too. He thinks about stroking it, but the friction as it rubs against Dean's stomach is more than enough.

Dean, on the other hand – Sam knows Dean produces a _lot_ of cum now after whatever the angels did, a lot more than normal, like, when he knots his mouth, it's more on the average of a quarter cup instead of just two teaspoons. (Sam cares about biology, okay?) But now, it's like Dean's pumping a river of cum into Sam, gripping him tightly as he just… keeps… coming…

When it finally, _finally_ begins to slow, Dean twines his fingers into Sam's hair and pulls his head to one side, exposing the slope of his collared neck and bare shoulder. Then he opens his mouth, sharpened canines extending like Sam's never seen them before, and _bites_.

It should hurt, Sam knows, but it doesn't. It feels for a moment like he's soaring, and a wave of possessiveness and love and lust washes through him. Dean's feelings – he's feeling _Dean_. He brings a hand up to Dean's face searchingly, tilting it into he can see Dean's eyes. They're blown wide, just like his must be.

_"Mine,"_ Dean snarls, a little rivulet of blood, Sam's blood, trickling down from his mouth.

_"Yours,"_ Sam agrees, running his fingers across Dean's cheek in a caress.

There's no going back from this, he realizes, not even if they somehow get free and back to their world. This is it for him, for them. Dean's never going to leave him, and he'll never leave Dean behind either.

Dean presses Sam's legs higher yet, relieving the pressure that the knot is causing at that angle, and then collapses gently on top of Sam, nuzzling his face into his neck.

Then he laughs and rolls them both onto their side, one arm wrapped around Sam's thigh to help keep his leg from straining.

"We are _so_ doing this doggy-style next time," he says, touching his forehead to Sam's. "I'm getting too old for this acrobatic shit."

Castiel smiles, watching the pair as they finish breeding. With luck, the omega will catch soon – love matches often produce better and faster results, he's found. He's looking forward to being able to start introducing the bloodline back into the population. Three angels have already placed bids for their first progeny.

His eyes stray back to Dean and Sam, still tied together. A strange sense of wistful contentment washes over him.

Strange. There's no reason for those emotions.

On a whim, he checks his host, but no, that Cas is still locked up tight. Meditating, it looks like.

He's worrying for nothing.

There's nothing wrong.


	5. Chapter 5

Dean and Sam spend the next few weeks making up for lost time. The plug may no longer be locked inside him, but Dean likes to use it on him anyway, and seems to have taken it as a personal mission to see exactly how much of his jizz he can fuck up inside Sam in one day. Sam's not sure if it's hot or annoying, but it makes Dean happy, so he's happy too. He doesn't know if it's part of the angel's programming or some weird new biological imperative of his, but he feels a little empty without it or Dean's knot filling him up.

Castiel shows up more often than before, sometimes on his own, other times with an angel or two in tow. By this point Dean and Sam are so used to the interruptions that they just carry on with what they are doing – usually having sex, since there's not a lot else to do in the facility – regardless of whether they have an audience. Sometimes Sam will think back on how modest he used to be and marvel. How many times had he let his own hang-ups get in the way of what he wanted? _Never again_ , he resolves. Now, whenever Dean asks, he gives in joyfully, losing himself in his alpha and the ecstasy of the moment. If the angels want to be creepy perverts, it's not his problem.

The only thing that Dean and Sam can't ignore is when any of the angels try to touch Sam's stomach. Then it all turns into an unsatisfying clusterfuck: Sam shies away from them and Dean lashes out, which makes the angel put him to sleep, which means a less satisfying or even ruined orgasm for Sam. Finally, though, Cas pulls his hand away from Sam's stomach with a smug look on his face. "Good news, Samuel. You're going to be a father." While Sam is still stunned at the pronouncement, he presses a hand to Sam's collar, and the omega goes to sleep too.

When they wake, they're not in their room. The bed is there – Sam can tell because even with clean bedding, the smell of _Dean-and-Sam_ has seeped down into the frame itself – and their little pillow-nest is also there. But the room is bigger, and brighter, and there's an open archway that leads to a beautiful little enclosed patio with a small patch of grass. Sam likes to spend his time there, sprawled out on the lawn in a sunbeam, because it's always sunny on the patio. He can hear other alpha-omega couples talking, a happy murmur that reminds him they aren't entirely alone. He doesn't need to see them, doesn't need anything but his alpha; but it's comforting to know that he's not the only one like this.

Pregnant, that is.

Dean is proud and unrepentant when Sam confronts him with the news about it. "I tried to warn you, didn't I? But you were all _'do me alpha'_ and didn't want to talk about it."

Sam glares at him and he shrugs helplessly.

"I can't help it, Sammy. Yeah, I know I thought kids were never in the cards, but that was before. Now, I think about you growing a new baby that's part of you and part of me, and I love it. I don't regret it, not at all."

"Yeah?" Sam's hands move protectively over his stomach. "And what happens if we find a way back to our world?"

Dean shrugs and holds up a grape for Sam to eat. "Maybe we don't. Maybe we just stop looking and enjoy what we got. A world without war, famine, demons? Sounds pretty good to me."

Sammy's belly swells over the next few months, from a little pudge that looks like Dean's been overfeeding him into an undeniable baby belly. Seeing it makes it all real for Sam, and the minute he feels that little bubbly fluttery feeling inside, he doesn't regret it, either.

Castiel visits a lot more frequently. There's a lot of poking and prodding and measuring and weighing. Sam hates it all, especially the invasive parts where Cas puts his fingers where only Dean's are supposed to go, making Sam jerk around and _snarl_ at him. It's worth it every time Castiel says afterwards that the baby is healthy and fine.

He can't help but fret about how things will change when the baby is born – Where will it sleep? How will they take care of it? – but it's a low-key fear borne of the deprivations of their use. It'll be safe, he reminds himself, the angels obviously _want_ them to be part of the effort that repopulates their world or they wouldn't set it up this way.

Seeing Sam's belly has a different effect on Dean. If Sam thought they had a lot of sex before, it's _nothing_ compared to now. The indisputable proof of their union is an aphrodisiac to Dean. He fucks Sam everywhere – on the floor, on the bed, on the grass, bent over the table… he's insatiable.

_Sam loves it._

After Sam's stomach gets large enough that it touches the bed when he's kneeling, a new piece of furniture shows up in the room, some kind of kinky sex bench that he can lie on that elevates his hips, with a hole in its center that lets his belly hang down and a sling underneath to keep it safely supported. There's even a small trough underneath Sam's hips, too, designed to catch all of their fluids when they fuck.

Once Dean figures out how it works, he straps Sam into it and doesn't let him up for hours. Finally, when Sam's hole is puffy and gaping open, he takes the trough and pours all of their combined mess back into Sam and plugs him up, humming as he goes. Then he pulls his chair up to the front of the bench, sits down and guides Sam's mouth down onto his cock to warm it, and Sam has a vision of what the next few months are going to be like.

He's not wrong.

Castiel is discussing plans for the baby's arrival and how quickly it can safely be removed from his pets and sent to the barren alpha-omega pair that will raise it in its new home – when the unthinkable happens.

_No._

He looks around, but there's no one speaking.

_No_ , the voice says again, more insistently, and he realizes that the voice is his own.

_I thought I was wrong. I thought you had found a better way. They seemed so happy, it seemed wrong not to let them have this._

"Hannah-" he says out loud, but before he can warn her further, he's elsewhere, flown in-between by his vessel's other inhabitant.

_I thought you cherished them as I do. I thought you would protect them._

The anger is swelling inside of him, and he turns his attention entirely inward, trying to stamp down and contain the other version of himself. He'd considered the other-self so crippled, so broken, that it wasn't a threat, but now he sees his mistake. Nestled safe in Heaven's care, bathed with the grace of two angels, his alternate has grown strong.

"Stop-" he says. "You can't."

And the voice says back, using his own vocal chords this time, "No. _You_ can't. I won't _let_ you. Sam and Dean are _my_ charges. And they deserve better than this."

The world shifts, and he finds himself in the prison he'd constructed for his alternate. And no matter how he beats on the prison walls, they don't break.

Sam is dozing, once again strapped to the bench as Dean thrusts lazily into him from behind, when Cas appears.

"Dean… Sam…" he says, and their eyes snap to him as he leans over the bench, placing a hand on each of their heads. Instantly, Sam's mind clears, and the leather ties holding his arms and legs in place fall away.

"I'm sorry it took me so long. We have to go."

Dean's knot is already mostly deflated, so it's easy for him to pull out and stand up. He's by Sam's side immediately, helping him to his feet.

"Cas-?" Sam asks incredulously.

The angel nods grimly. "It's me. Naomi used some kind of mind alteration on me, but I'm better now. "I'm here to take you back to your world."

Sam's hands fly to his stomach. "I don't think that's a good idea, Cas. This is normal here. I'd, we'd be freaks over there."

Cas's expression softens with sorrow. "I'm know, Sam, and I'm sorry. But it's not safe for you to stay here longer." He starts to reach out, then drops his hand, remembering all the times that hand had violated his friend. It doesn't matter that it wasn't him at the time.

"Why now?" Dean cocks his head quizzically. "Why not earlier?"

Cas's shoulders slump down. He'd been so sure, then... "You seemed happy here. I was loathe to interrupt it."

"Yeah?" Dean asks. "So what changed?"

Cas looks away, unable to meet their eyes. "The child was not going to be yours to keep."

"What?" Sam squawks, curling in on himself as Dean snarls next to him.

"My... alternate, this world's Castiel was making plans to remove your child after birth and give it to another couple, so you could begin the breeding process again. I did not deem it in your best interest to let those plans continue to fruition."

"You mean you could have stopped this whole thing before–" Dean gestures angrily at Sam, who instinctively steps back, hands over his belly.

Once upon a time, Sam might would have heard those words and thought they meant resentment, or at least regret, for the relationship forced upon them. Now, he knows better – his alpha loves him, loves the baby. He understands that with his whole heart. Dean's angry, but not at Sam - he's angry _on Sam's behalf_ , for his lack of choice.

Cas shakes his head. "No, I was not strong enough until recently to overcome this world's Castiel. I... came as fast as I could. I'm sorry."

"So now what?" Sam asks warily, retreating a step behind Dean where he feels safer.

"Now?" Cas says, black wings extending behind him. "Now, I take you home."

"What about the baby?" Dean asks.

Cas looks away. "The physiological changes are permanent. You will be able to carry the baby to term without any problems. And I will stay by your side to protect you, as I should have before this."

Part of Sam misses their friends, the open road, even the Bunker. The other part, the omega part, wants to stay in the room where it's safe and nothing hurts. Where Dean will always be safe and within reach.

He looks at Dean. He's the alpha; it's his call. But more than that, Sam _trusts_ him. Whatever he decides will be the right choice.

Deans looks around him at the room – the cosy, well-slept-in nest, the perfectly sunny patio – and sighs.

"This place is great, but it's not real." He wraps his arms around Sam protectively, one hand over his belly, the other around his waist. " _We're_ real, though, and that's not gonna change, no matter where we are. We've got friends and a home and a life waiting for us." He gives the breeding bench a last longing look, then waggles his eyes at Sam. "Tell you one thing, though - first thing I'm gonna do when we get there is build you one of those, baby."

Sam looks at Dean, then back at their angel, and nods. Hell, Heaven, Purgatory, and now this place – he's been by their side through all of it, and this is no different.

"Okay, Cas, take us home."

And they're gone.

-End-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a pinch-hit, so I'll probably return to this in the future and flesh out a bit more of their time on the other earth, and maybe an epilogue on their return! Thanks to DarkLittleHeart for the artistic inspiration - I hope it hits all the right notes for you!


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